


The sixth recruit

by Starbase Blake (galaxyostars)



Series: From Ayden Blake to Jhalen Novu [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Indirect reference to the USS Veritas (Starbase 118), Indirect references to Star Trek: The Next Generation, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:37:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/Starbase%20Blake
Summary: Jhalen Novu needs six people to hold up a government building - the last recruit, however, is not as open to his leadership as the others.





	The sixth recruit

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the Starbase 118 RPG (www.starbase118.net), the universe in which this series of fics is based on.

There is never such thing as a ‘good nights sleep’ anymore, but today, he really wished he’d at least _tried_ to suffer through more than four hours. The residence he kept all to himself was small, cream-coloured, and functional overall. It wasn’t as spruced up as the Starfleet vessel he’d stayed aboard for a week or so, and was by no means as sparse as the planet he’d been marooned on with said Starfleet vessel’s crew had been.

Instead, this small, cosy home was simple. It lacked technology someone like himself grew up with. He was alright with that.

Lungs ached as he heaved himself up out of bed, snapping him into a coughing fit as he cleared the fluid from his lungs. Each morning he awoke the same, torturous way – eventually he’d have to bite the proverbial bullet and invest in more cushions, if only to prop him upright while he slept. It wasn’t as if he slept soundly, anyway.

Leaning against the nearly-empty dresser, he slapped a stickypad to his chest to read out his more important medical stats. It displayed the information through a visual hologram almost immediately. _Oxygen saturation: 74%,_ it read. Could be worse, he mused idly.

A knock came against the wall. He turned, liquid brown eyes settling on a young, blonde Brekkian female he’d met two years ago – Sudinan, her name was, and she had what he considered to be an unhealthy infatuation with him. He tolerated it for the lack of people having been recruited (she’d been among the first), but he quietly hoped that she would eventually grow out of her attachment.

“Sorry to interrupt,” She said with a seemingly coy smile. “We have our six.”

He gave a sigh of relief. “Alright. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Six people, for a building that was going to house close to a hundred for the event. It’d be tight, but this was four years in the planning – four years spent painstakingly sorting out schedules, planning every route, accounting for who would be attending.

Initially, he wanted to be able to accomplish this all on his own, but that had been a significant stretch of wishful thinking on his part. This was a 105 year old vulcanoid male, already in a somewhat fragile condition as he suffered from the long-lasting affects of chronometric radiation from years of time travel. He needed others to carry out the more technical parts of this historic event.

Hence why he put up with Sudinan. Thankfully, however, the others were far more pleasant to work with on a day-to-day basis.

The journey out of his sparse bedroom took effort, strength that had to be drawn from his core that left him feeling tired and disheveled. He found the small flat’s living area filled with five people – Sudinan and three others he recognized, but one he did not.

“ _This_ is the guy that’s going to change the world?”

The comment was a bit shocking, clearly in reference to himself, but he gave an amused grin.

Sudinan jumped to his defense, eyes turning to thunder and lightning as she addressed their newcomer. “Jhalen Novu has seen things you can only _dream_ of! And you dare to speak to him like that!?”

“Take it easy, Sudinan,” He said, sliding into a chair and placing his rebreather onto his face. “Allow people their own opinions.”

“You have _pointed ears_!” The newcomer exclaimed.

“At least I know you have working eyes.”

This was another Brekkian – everyone in this room was a Brekkian, save himself – that he’d have to get to know, but quite frankly, they simply didn’t have the time. His eyes trailed over the newcomer’s features, noting the dull blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. Their nose was almost pointed upwards in clear disdain for him, the corners of their mouth sharp in disapproval. He’d never had to live up to someone’s expectations before, and this was proving to be a new experience for everyone involved.

“It’s not about whether you like me,” He said calmly, accepting a glass of water from Parves, his second recruit whom had also been less than eager when he’d joined this little ‘pack’. “It’s about whether you _trust_ me.”

“Fat chance of that when I don’t even _know_ you.”

“My name is Jhalen Novu.”

That was a false name on his part, but he had no intention on divulging exactly who he was to any of these people – not that his real name would matter to them, anyway. His concern was more about if his real name got out past the Delos system – his mother, in her prime age this year, would no doubt come hunting him down to put a stop to what she’d consider a dangerous practice. And she’d be right to do so.

Terrorism, even if he had no intention of actually _causing_ terror, was still a crime.

“What’s yours?” Jhalen asked softly.

“Whylen." She snapped, before pointing to his head. "What’s with the ears?”

“They’re a family heirloom.” The glass clinked as he set it back down onto the table. “You wouldn’t have come here in the first place if you didn’t like the idea, Whylen.”

This gave the woman pause, glancing over to Voma – likely who had recruited her or at least convinced her to come and consider the movement – and received a nod in silent response.

“Brekkians are not in the habit of giving away that of which has not been paid for,” Whylen stated quietly. “That is a sentiment we live by.”

“It’s a fair one, when practiced correctly.” Jhalen agreed.

“And yet, we cannot live by it if we have no trade to begin with.”

She took a seat across from him, pulling out a tablet and scrolling through what may have been dozens of pages of a statistical document. “Last month, the Ferengi Alliance contacted the Seritonian government with an offer of trade, but because there is no ‘overarching’ government body that establishes which country trades galactically, so conflict broke out between Seritona and Pasvolan about who would deal with them. They still haven’t finished arguing, and the Ferengi are no longer in the system.”

He simply nodded, not surprised by the news at all. If anything, the Ferengi probably skipped to the other side of the system and asked the Ornarans if they wanted the deal instead – as was usually the case these days.

“Before this, Navellai established an observation system watching which ships come into Delos and which leave – any time someone that their leaders don’t like enter the area, they kick up a fuss and demand they leave without any regard for the rest of the planet.”

“Such is what happens with Starfleet.” Jhalen nodded again. “I’m aware.”

“The way our economy is going, we are going to run ourselves into the ground. Our diplomatic relations with other species is dead in the water – we are the laughing stock of the galaxy. The Federation don’t want to know us, the Ornarans repeatedly ignore us and are beginning to disallow Brekkians within their territories!” She exclaimed. “All because our planetary leadership is splintered in ways that will become irreconcilable if we do not act _now_.”

The vulcanoid smiled. Though she apparently thought very little of him and his heritage, Whylen had impressed him, even if what she’d just spouted was common knowledge.

So he was honest with her.

“We are about to embark on a very dangerous job,” He said, crossing his arms. “I – _we –_ intend to strong-arm the collective leadership arriving in Nar Talone tonight into signing a unification accord, one that will bring us at least a partially unified government.”

“I will _not_ fight for you.”

“I don’t intend to fight, Ms Whylen. I intend to listen.”

She narrowed her eyes, and he merely shrugged.

“Our species are not unreasonable.”


End file.
